


Lovely boy, won't you stay?

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Grocery Store, Alternate Universe - Mechanics, Explicit Language, M/M, Meddling, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:22:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2454560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn is often more covered in paint and tattoos than he'll ever be in grease, and sometimes Harry slips bits and pieces into people's shopping without ringing it up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovely boy, won't you stay?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lowi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowi/gifts).



> Dear lowi, thank you for the lovely prompts - I had a really hard time choosing between them. I hope you enjoy this. 
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://www.cellatjie.tumblr.com) :)

They meet with Harry being a little too nice when he sees Zayn studying the collection of chocolates and sweets at Harry’s counter with his reusable, eco-friendly canvas shopping bag hanging off a sharp shoulder and one of the store’s baskets filled up with an assortment of two-minute noodles, tins of the cheapest instant coffee, and a few energy drinks. 

Zayn looks up and smiles a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his tired eyes and asks for a packet of Marlboro Reds. He looks down at his wallet. Harry takes the opportunity to slide a few Mars Bars into his bag as Zayn hunts down the correct amount of change in his old worn-through leather wallet. He doesn’t notice. He only hands Harry a couple of crumpled notes and some coins. His hands are filthy. Harry thanks him, wishes him the best day and smiles after him as he makes his way out into the miserable rain that’s been drizzling down all week since he started there.

Harry doesn’t really think he’ll see him again. He doesn’t hold onto any hopes of that. 

And then he’s blinking back tears in the deserted car park after he’s closed up the grocery because his piece of shit car won’t start and it’s the middle of the night and he’s all alone in this fucking city except for Louis and Louis isn’t picking up and what the hell does he do now? 

His phone, which luckily manages to keep its fucking smarts around it in a time of crisis, points out that the nearest mechanic is, in fact, right across the street from the store, where a light just so happens to still be burning. 

It’s him. 

It’s Zayn who opens the door a sliver to regard him with a frown. 

Harry stands outside Zayn’s garage in the sickly yellow light on his doorstep, in the middle of the night, and rubs at his eyes and concentrates on his breathing to keep from crying. Zayn’s gaze softens. He invites Harry inside and coaxes the story from him.

“Alright, Curly, give me the keys and I’ll go fetch it. You sit tight and help yourself to a Mars Bar.” 

They only exchange names once Harry’s car is standing inside Zayn’s garage and Zayn’s busy with the engine, once Harry’s taken a seat on a clean bench top that Zayn nods to and he’s nibbling on a Mars Bar, the lump in Harry’s throat has gone down, and he’s not about to lose it. He feels kind of silly. Yeah. He’s already decided, however, that he’s keeping Zayn. 

Harry goes about this by sneaking ever more inventive items into Zayn’s bags – he does pay for these, he doesn’t want to hurt Lou’s business and he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night otherwise either. 

It’s all an elaborate magic trick. Zayn’s comings and goings are unpredictable and vary from him darting in at 6:05, five minutes after Harry’s opened, in need of new cigarettes after spending the night smoking as he sat by his easel, to lunch runs that he pays for with his grease-stained hands, to sauntering up to the counter in the late evening, having just closed up himself, carrying a top up on his two-minute noodle dinners supply. 

On one occasion, Harry manages to slip him a proper pub meal of steak, chips, and salad in a plastic container he’d bought over his lunch break, and Zayn calls him when he discovers it and insists that he come help eat it. Harry’s car seems to be on board with the plan as well and enthusiastically hands Harry problem after problem, with which Harry rumbles to Zayn’s in said spluttering, coughing, wheezing, miserable car. 

He gets Zayn to like him by setting up smoke and mirrors around every corner. What completely slipped past him was that Zayn had already pulled the bunny out of the hat and Harry was arse over bloody teakettle in love before he’d even managed to set himself up for his finale: the vanishing act.

“Oh, funny story, my mum called this morning, I thought it was going to be a nice day, and then she immediately flies of the handle and tells me to come home right now and talk to Lottie because I’m an awful influence on her as she now wants to go backpacking around Australia for a year and is a bit unenthusiastic about uni. I literally had nothing to do with that at all in any way whatsoever…” 

Harry is listening, he’s just waiting for Louis to properly finish his story, he’s familiar with Louis’s love for rhetoric and drama. He’s just about to reply.

“So a spring wedding is in order then, is it? Am I man of honour? I’d better be man of honour.” 

Louis’s voice cuts through Harry’s musings by the counter where he’s craning his head looking out of the window to try and pull Zayn’s attention away from the guy he’s talking to outside the garage. He jerks around just as Zayn looks up at him, and then turns back to wave. Zayn’s face does that thing – he raises his eyebrows and blinks and shakes his head – that makes Harry think he’s confused that they’re even friends. Harry grins and waves again. 

“Liam’s probably going to be best man, Niall the ring caddy, and Nick the annoying, kind of cheesy DJ…”

“What?” he asks as he turns to look at Louis.

“Just ask him out. This is sickening.” 

“What – no. I don’t feel like that. I can’t ask him out. He’d say no. I don't even know if he's into guys, Louis.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Haz, you clearly do feel like that. And he does too. It’s so obvious. I bet NASA’s astronauts are all laughing at you going around wooing him with sweets and rigging your car up to croak every morning, not to mention the precious cow eyes that you always just manage to miss.”

“I really don’t think astronauts do that, Louis. I don’t think NASA does that kind of stuff either, you’re probably thinking of the other one, the NSA. I’ll Google it for you though.”

“You’re not protesting the rest of that though? Please tell me you aren’t actually fiddling around with your car.”

“What? No! I am not fiddling around with my car to have an excuse to go talk to Zayn!” Louis is smirking at him. “And don’t be ridiculous, you absolutely did play a part in Lottie’s wanting to do that. You probably got some contacts off Liam and everything, didn’t you?”

Louis gasps. “Harry Edward Styles, how dare you accuse me of such a thing?” His mouth settles quickly into a smirk again though. “I only gave her a gentle nudge, and had a casual chat to her about it as we booked her flights and confirmed her accommodation. There is hardly any chance that she’ll turn out like me. She’s far too smart and driven and brilliant for that.” 

Louis’s smirk gets a sardonic twist to it at that. 

Harry shakes his head and wraps his arms around Louis, making sure to tuck his head against his chest and patting his feathery hair. 

“Oh no, it’s too late for Lottie in that case, she’s already turned out like that – all brilliant and stuff.” 

“Are you saying I’m not smart and driven then?” Louis asks with a chuckle.

“Didn’t want to lay it on too thick. I figured less was more.” Louis reaches up to pat Harry’s chest. 

Harry screeches and flings himself away from Louis who’d just pinched his nipple. 

“It’s a bit early in the day for whispering sweet-nothings into my ear.” Louis says. And then, quieter, “I do appreciate it though, Haz.” 

Harry grins.

“However, as effective as your evasion is for the moment, I am adamant that you should just ask pretty Zaynie out.”

“Louis.” Harry groans. 

“I think you should do it tonight in fact, since we’ll all be at his. Although, twenty quid says you’re there before anyone else. I should run now, otherwise Niall will skin me. Goodbye, lover.” Before Harry can protest the automated doors are wobbling shut behind Louis. 

*

Harry’s car is nestled in Zayn’s garage by half past four with Zayn changing his dead headlight bulb. Harry’s watching Zayn out of the corner of his eye go about it in that competent, relaxed way he goes about everything, the only thing betraying his concentration being his pursed lips. Harry wishes he was more like that, better with his hands and able to make things and put things back together. Zayn flashes him a smile as he wipes his hands on a flannelette before he goes to put the new bulb into place carefully, avoiding touching the bulb with his grease stained ring finger and palm. 

Across the road, Lou is bored out of her mind half an hour into her shift. She has her face pressed up against the window, drawing with her finger on the fogged up glass. Harry can’t make it out. He shakes his head. Lou rubs off the glass. She brings up both hands, curls one, points the index finger of the other, and mimes sex at him with a grin. 

Harry glances sideways to find Zayn just turning away from the same scene to look at him. Zayn quickly looks away again. He scratches his left arm, grease smudging his elbow, goes to put his hands in his pockets, misses one, and rubs more grease off on his jeans. 

Harry can only stare and wonder how.

“Um, so what did you want for that?” he asks after a deafening silence. He pulls out his wallet from his back pocket. 

“Just remember that your service is in five weeks, Harry.” Zayn says. “You could probably get the pizza tonight if you do it quick enough when the others get here.” 

At Zayn’s quick grin, Harry laughs because that’s a task that’s near impossible with a herd of lads all tossing money at the pizza person as soon as there’s a knock at the door. He resolves instead to sneak a slice of his share onto Zayn’s plate when he’s too caught up in whatever superhero movie Liam turns up with tonight. 

Harry trails along after Zayn up the stairs to his little flat above the garage. He follows Zayn into the kitchenette, where Zayn hoists himself up onto the counter top next to the sink.

“Make us some tea, would you, babe?” he asks, nodding at the kettle. 

Harry watches as Zayn swings open the window and pulls out a cigarette. He lights up and takes a drag, and his eyes that the sunlight catches on and sets fire to shuts slowly. 

Harry flicks the kettle on. Yeah, Zayn must be exhausted. He only lights up in front of Harry when he really needs it. Harry’d be bone-tired too after a day of running his own business, physically going to work on cars, figuring out what the hell is the cause of that noise that sounded a bit like a banjo, and then explaining this to customers and discussing payment, and then having your friend pull up with a dead headlight after just having closed up shop. He pinches his lip. Perhaps two slices would be better. 

He glances up when Zayn hooks his foot around Harry’s thigh and nudges at him to try and pull him closer. 

Harry goes. 

He’s learnt to appreciate Zayn when he seeks out contact like this, because as tactile as Zayn gets he’s also greedy when it comes to giving himself away. Harry’s had to awkwardly poke at the chinks in his armor and peek around the walls he’s firmly put in place to understand him. 

“You look a bit serious for a Friday night.” Zayn says quietly. He smiles at Harry. 

“Just wondering when I’m going to see your masterpieces.” Harry’s grin comes easy, real. It usually does around Zayn.

Zayn chuckles. “They’re right there in the living room. You can look at them anytime you want.”

“Yeah, but I mean really look at them and understand them.”

“Oh, Harry, there’s no, like, deeper meaning attached to any of them, no deeper understanding that you’re not getting, I…I just paint for me. On a rainy day. I don’t know, if someone just feels something when they look at my stuff then I think I’d be happy. That’s all really.” 

Zayn’s eyes are downcast. He turns away towards the window to take another drag of his cigarette and picking at a loose bit of thread on his raggedy torn jeans, like he’s embarrassed with how much he’s said and wishing he could take it back.

“I’d like to figure out what they make me feel.” Harry says it so quietly that he’s not sure Zayn hears it. But maybe that’s for the best, fuck, what a dumb thing to say. 

He adds an extra spoon of sugar to Zayn’s tea just for that, but he doesn’t bring it up again afterwards even when the boys get there and they’re all scattered around Zayn’s couch watching Captain America: The Winter Soldier. 

Harry ends up sandwiched between Louis, who’s sprawled more over the armrest than the couch, and Zayn, who’s pointy elbow keeps digging into Harry’s side as they eat. Niall is spread out on the carpet in front of the couch, eating off his finance textbook, yellow highlighter lying forgotten and drying out next to him. 

They’re an odd group of friends, an assembled family of sorts who were all unbelievably lucky to stumble into one another somewhere along the way in a city that’s too big. 

Louis, having come here with Harry, met Niall at the coffee shop where they both ‘slave away’ as Louis calls it. Harry, of course, pulled Zayn along with some invisible string and fake incantations, and Liam trailed after Zayn like a lost puppy and then became top dog.

Zayn stares wide-eyed at the telly when Steve finds out it’s Bucky. Harry takes the opportunity to slide one and a half slices of his pizza onto Zayn’s plate and when Zayn tears his gaze away from the screen and notices, he tangles his fingers in Harry’s curls and tugs him closer to plant a kiss on his cheek. He forgets his hand in Harry’s hair as he goes back to staring raptly at the helicarrier battle playing out on screen. 

“You are going to have to do better than that, Harry-dearest.” Louis whispers into his ear. “Unless you woo with flowers and poetry or other more expensive and decadent treats, I’m afraid that course of action is doomed to fail and just asking the fucker out is probably still your best option.” 

Harry pinches Louis’s side and gets a slap back and a harsh shushing from Liam for his efforts. 

“You still owe me that twenty quid.” Louis mutters under his breath. 

They all disperse after sitting through the after-credits scenes. Louis drops down to the floor next to Niall and starts harassing him with stupid questions about his course to distract him from the fact that he’s doing away with the whole separate pizza Niall insists on getting for himself. 

Zayn curls up next to Liam and they quietly natter on about comics and the need for a Ms Marvel movie. Harry’s been sort of envious of the friendship they’ve had going on since he’s met Liam and the way Zayn’s face lights up when he’s talking to him and his eyes do that crinkly thing when he smiles like whatever Liam’s said is just the best thing he’s ever heard. 

Harry’s only been on the receiving end of that smile when after a fortnight away with his family he got caught up in telling Zayn the rambling story of the best breakfast he’s ever had, which he bought from the guy selling crepes with his border collie on a street corner in Barcelona. 

Harry gets up off the couch and wanders over to Zayn’s little makeshift studio in the corner of the living room by the lone window. Zayn did invite him to look after all. He rakes his eyes over the canvasses stacked on the floor against the wall to the half finished one on his easel to the two propped up on top of the desk on which his tubes of paints that are nearly squeezed flat and empty are arranged next to a few clean brushes, a shiny tin foil plate, notebook and a sheet of paper cataloguing exactly what and how much of each Zayn has of everything. He’s surprised at how orderly this particular area is kept compared to the rest of Zayn’s cluttered little flat. 

He glances back up at the two paintings standing on the desk. One is a weirdly wonderful, cartoonish rendering of the grey London skyline. The other is confusing. More abstract. Like graffiti sprayed everywhere while high as a kite soaring through a haze of spray paint fumes. Swirls of brown and forest green and some weird plaid red and black plaid pattern taking shape in the corner. He likes it. He concludes this as he stands there pinching his lip. 

Finally taking his gaze away from it after a few long minutes, Harry joins Niall on the carpet. He peers over Niall’s shoulder at his book.

“So, what’s this week’s money stuff?” Harry asks.

“This week’s chapter is on risk and return, and I have a test on it on Monday.” Niall slowly and deliberately shoves the last bit of his pizza into his mouth. “This week’s pizza is pepperoni and all mine.” 

Harry chuckles and leans into his side. 

“I like the green one too. It makes me a bit nostalgic for that spontaneous one night camping trip you dragged us all out on that one time, remember? Pretty sure he started painting that soon after as well.” Niall says after a moment through a mouthful of pizza. His textbook lies spread-eagled in front of him, still on the same page he was when Louis descended on him earlier. 

Harry hums in agreement. It had been a nice little spur of the moment thing. Funnily enough, Zayn hadn’t wanted to go at all, he remembers. He’d snarled some choice words at the lot of them even as they bundled into Liam’s car. Liam had even let him pick the music for the entire drive, and Niall and Louis had kept up a running commentary about everything that had Harry choking from laughter. 

As the day wore on, Zayn had slowly mellowed out and had spent the night next to Harry, smiling softly at him and whispering jokes to him, an apology clearly hidden amid the stream of conversation. Harry didn’t think he’d actually enjoyed it that much though. 

“Might be running out of paint though.”

Harry glances sideways at the desk. “Yeah, looks like it.” 

Louis and Liam have an intense game of FIFA, with Liam’s sheer scrappy competitiveness getting him a one goal victory over Louis despite Zayn’s occasional interference. Harry’s eyelids droop heavily by the third game – because Louis had insisted on best two out of three for a proper win. Niall’s the one to finally call an end to it and jerks Louis’s controller out of his hands. 

Zayn doesn’t mention anything when they say goodbye at the door after all of them putting in varying amounts of effort into cleaning up a bit. He does, however, wrap an arm around Harry’s waist, the other one winding around his neck to tug at his curls again. If Harry shivers involuntarily, Zayn doesn’t mention that either. 

*

Harry has a plan. Another magic trick. He thinks it’s good. It’s a good plan. It’s a plan that’ll work. Yeah. It’s good. The plan comes together in his mind as he mans the counter at the grocery that next dreary Monday morning, scrolling through photos of Italy. The pieces all slip into place without any input from him. And by the end of his shift, he’s buzzing with excitement and customers are eyeing him warily. He’s sure he gives the wrong change to at least one person but the guy takes it and is on his way out just as Harry is about to call him back. Lou worriedly asks him if he’s feeling all right when she turns up, but he’s quick to assure her that he’s perfectly fine, amazing even, really. She apologises for the early shift she rostered him on this week, but Harry is quick to assure her that that’s great too. 

An early start means he’s managed to do some quality research of the best arts and crafts shops in the city, and the bus timetables that’ll get him there and back to somewhere around his neighbourhood in a timely fashion, and nagged at Nick to confess that he is in possession of at least one string of fairy lights and to disclose their location in their apartment and arranged for him to be out for the night, and looked up the top ten most romantic dinners as voted by House & Gardens’ readership. 

He runs to the bus stop, wind and drizzle lapping at him, but manages to get the driver, who’s just about to pull onto the road, to open the doors again with a pitiful beseeching stare. He clings to a pole instead of sitting down and sways about as he tries to count down the stops. 

Harry gets distracted wandering down the streets and nearly ends up buying an overpriced umbrella from one kooky little shop, not even to mention the museum expedition that he talked himself out of. He sort of knows what he wants when he gets his bearings and finds his way to the art shop he’s had his heart set on. Zayn prefers oil paints, he knows. With that in mind, he trails along after the shop assistant, hanging off her every word before making his purchase – a modest and affordable but elaborate set that makes his hands tremble when forks over the money and stays with him like a bad smell as he carries it off.

Prettying up the apartment is a task he grossly underestimated, but he gets to work. He doesn’t even get stroppy when Nick stops by quickly after work and teases him about the polka dotted bandana tying away his unruly curls, which were made even more draconian by the drizzle that got him. He only flings the pair of underwear that had somehow ended up on the coffee table at him. 

“How do you even eat this much crisps?” Harry asks, pulling empty crisps bags from behind the couch cushions and between the seats.

“Please. You have contributed at least a solid third of those and Niall another three quarters.” Nick says. “I can’t help that they sell more air than crisps, Harry. It’s not my fault.” Nick makes a quick exit after that, not interested in falling victim to Harry’s puppy eyes and being implored to assist in cleaning up. 

Harry is putting up the last string of fairy lights around the window when his phones rings and he buzzes Zayn up. 

“Hey.” Harry smiles when he swings open the door to see Zayn stood outside looking so effortlessly good with his quiffed hair, wearing a red Henley, jeans, and sneakers. It’s just different from the grease-stained tanks and ripped jeans, and messy hair that he usually goes for and Harry’s gotten so used to. He looks younger and hopeful like this. It’s as though he’s softened and brightened around his hard edges. 

“Hey, Haz. That’s a lovely head scarf.” Zayn grins. Harry groans because he clean forgot to take it off and do his hair properly and now he looks like a Disney princess, which, compared to Zayn’s put-togetherness, is really stupid. Zayn fishes Harry’s keys out of his pocket. “It was an exhaust thing, took me a while but it’s running smoothly again now.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it, Zayn. Um, did you – ”

“No, it’s fine. Forget about it.” Zayn shakes his head. “I just hope it’s now given you all the shit it’s had to give and starts behaving.” 

Harry chuckles because, yeah, a reliable and convenient mode of transport would be rather nice. 

Zayn is still grinning. He glances down at his shoes before he turns to leave.

“I’ll be off then, I’ll text you a bit later.”

“Oh, uh. You’re more than welcome to stay over and have dinner. I was going to cook but then I ran out of time and bought some curries instead and they’re a bit big.” Harry cringes when his voice goes squeaky towards the end.

“Um, that’s okay. I don’t want to be a bother.”

“No, no! You’re not, it’s not. I’d actually really like it if you did?” 

Zayn glances off to the side. “I’m sorry, I actually can’t tonight. My sister is in town until Thursday. So I owe her some quality time.” He scratches at the back of his neck. 

“Oh, yeah, wow. That’s great. I would love to meet your sister so she’s welcome too. I mean you know how massive those takeaway curries are.” 

“Thanks for the invite, Harry, really, but I don’t think tonight is going to work for us. She’s driving us back down to mine, and everything. We’re all catching up on Friday and going out though, yeah? I’ll be sure to save a dance for you if you want.” 

Harry forces his mouth into a smile and tries not to let the hurt shine through underneath it even as he waves goodbye to Zayn heading down the corridor. 

He’s not mad. Not at Zayn. 

He’s just confused because Zayn didn’t even consider it. And, of course, he understands that Zayn isn’t obligated to. Zayn doesn’t have to. He’s not entitled to any part of Zayn. 

It’s just that Harry saw him draw back. He saw Zayn draw back like he’s done so many times before.

Zayn let him off easy, but he didn’t want Harry to meet his family, didn’t want Harry seeing that part of him, getting that close. He pushed Harry away. He didn’t want him. 

Harry just thought that he maybe did.

Harry pushes the paint set underneath the couch as he sinks onto the floor with the plastic container of curry and a spoon, underneath the dumb fucking fairy lights. He’s just confused and upset with himself. Harry takes down the dumb fucking fairy lights the next morning and disposes of the congealed leftover curry that he couldn’t finish and couldn’t be bothered to put away. 

*

The rest of the week drags onward. 

Harry almost calls in sick. He has no doubt that Lou would let him take a day or two. However, he needs the money. Especially if his and Louis’s little jaunts are to go according to plan. 

He and Louis get a taste of student life in London through Niall who invites them along to anything and everything at his uni. 

Nick keeps tiptoeing around Harry until Harry tugs him down onto the couch one evening and makes him watch Dance Moms with him. 

Zayn exchanges snapchats with him, branding all his pictures with dry captions and emojis, and his material ranges from sneakily capturing a customer’s crocs and socks, to selfies taken in the rearview mirror of another customer’s car, to his love for graffiti. 

It’s on Thursday that Harry finally gets a glimpse of Zayn’s sister as she’s stuffing a suitcase into her car. She glances up at the grocery’s window and Harry’s taken aback, as he always is when he sees friends’ relatives, at the uncanny similarity and difference at the same time. She winks and waves at him. 

Harry’s a bit surprised at that and feels his cheeks heat up. 

The customer who’s had to stand there an entire extra minute declares that she is never coming back and that they’ve just lost a previously extremely loyal customer. 

*

Liam comes to pick him up that Friday night. Louis has already claimed shotgun and demands that Liam let him pick the music. Niall has one side of the backseat and Zayn shifts up to the middle to allow Harry space to sit next to him. Harry clambers in, folding up his long legs to fit inside. 

He feels Zayn’s eyes on him and turns to find Zayn regarding him with a hooded gaze, his mouth shiny and quirked up into a half smile. He’s already halfway drunk on cheap beer sold from the bottle shop on the corner. It’s less expensive that way after all, since the whole point of going out like this is to get drunk and do stupid things, why waste money trying to get a buzz from the overpriced shit they sell there then? 

Harry flashes him a quick smile in return and tears his stare away. He can still feel Zayn pressed up against his side though. 

They don’t go to clubs that often. The expenses tend to add up a bit too quick. Harry knows that that will add an even more bitter taste to their hangover-parched mouths the following morning. It doesn’t stop him and Louis and Zayn from trying to match Niall shot for shot as soon as they arrive.

Everything goes a bit glowy and less sharp around the edges some time after that. Harry dances, sandwiched between two very beautiful people. He can see Liam standing close to some girl, talking to her quietly, a daring grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Niall has dragged Louis to talk with another group of people. 

Hands take hold of his waist and Harry grins because it’s Zayn behind him, and as uncomfortable and uncoordinated Zayn looks when he dances elsewhere, never really one for letting go that much, Harry can’t deny the rhythm in those slim hips as they move together to whatever bass-heavy song is pounding from the speakers. 

“Told you I’d save you a dance.” Zayn says into Harry’s ear. His breath tickles Harry’s neck and Harry’s own breath comes a little quicker at that. 

They dance like that, pressed up against each other, hands mapping out each other’s bodies as much as possible in this place. At some point, they each end up with another two shots. 

The night rushes by in a blur of sound and touch and taste after that. Harry only remembers flashes of it here and there – dancing, with Zayn against his back, kissing someone, kissing Zayn he thinks, pushing his hands under his shirt to feel skin, feeling Zayn twist his fingers into Harry’s curls and tug so that he gasps. He dances more and Zayn’s gone somewhere, which is a shame because he’d like to feel the warm skin underneath his shirt and leather jacket again quite badly. He dances with Louis and talks to a couple of girls, dances with them as well because they’re nice. 

The cold air hits him like a ton of bricks when Harry stumbles outside with Liam clutching his hand to both provide him with some support and drag him away. Harry doesn’t feel too bad. He feels rather brilliant actually. 

Or he does until he cracks open an eye and recoils at the sharp headache that throbs behind his temples like a thousand tiny Nialls trying to claw their way out his skull. There’s someone lying next to him, eating something salty and greasy that makes Harry’s stomach turn. He swallows against the feeling.

“Good morning, princess.”

Harry groans at the noise and buries his face in his smelly arm. 

“Come on. Wakey, wakey. There’s aspirin next to you on the table.” Liam murmurs.

He takes deep breaths to try and settle the roiling mess inside his stomach as he eases himself into a somewhat more upright position. He gropes around for the alleged medication and sighs in relief when Liam holds the glass to his lips for him. He takes the glass and gulps the contents down in one breath. Now for it to get to work. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, breathes.

Harry slowly opens his eyes. He squints into the razor sharp sunlight pouring into his bedroom. He blinks and turns to look at Liam.

“Morning, Li. Did you sleep well?”

Liam’s lips twitch at that. “Yes, thank you, Harry.”

Harry manoeuvres himself to edge closer to Liam and clutch his muscly arm to his chest. He smiles up at him. “What are you doing here by the way?” he asks. 

“You were in a bad way last night so I brought you home.”

“And the others?” Harry shuts his eyes again.

“They left too. Niall, who wasn’t actually drunk at all or, if he was, knew how to carry himself really well, arranged for a cab to split the fare and get home okay.” 

“Oh. That’s good.” Harry mumbles. There is something almost mystical about Niall’s ability to hold his liquor. A massive amount of liquor at that. How is Niall even still alive? Harry feels his stomach churning and tries to think of non-alcohol related things. 

“So are you and Zayn officially in a relationship then?” Liam asks. 

“What? No. He doesn’t have those kinds of feelings for me, I don’t think.” Harry frowns. It’s too early and he’s too poorly to think about Zayn and what he may or may not feel for him.

“But you kissed last night.” Liam frowns. 

“Oh, yeah, that was him, yeah, we did.” He catches the sharp look Liam sends him at that. “Well, he’s not said anything about a relationship.”

“Probably because you had your tongue halfway down his throat and you’re both completely hopeless.” Liam sighs. Harry weakly punches his arm. 

Harry feels better when he’s eaten the greasy egg and bacon roll that Liam pushes at him when he hauls Harry out of bed. He definitely does not appreciate him enough. Liam is a gift. He curls up on the bed against Liam, nursing his bacon roll and giving Liam’s bicep the occasional pat. 

“Please just promise me that you’ll sort this out with Zayn. And soon. Preferably today.” 

That thought goes out the window right on the spot. 

Harry makes a vague sort of noise in the expectant silence that follows as he surges up off the bed and pulls up his trousers with one hand, his roll still clutched in the other. 

“And if you hurt him, I’ll…”

Harry gapes at Liam.

“We’ll have a serious, probably unpleasant chat.”

Liam leaves when Harry’s finished, but not without sending another stern look his way. 

Harry knows he looks a sight. He has purple bags under his eyes, his hair is greasy, and he knows he probably smells a bit too, not having had the time to jump in a shower before racing up here. His pained squint must also be a bit off-putting. Customers regard him with increasing degrees of disgust as the day goes on. 

One customer even informs him that employees are a reflection of the business and that his obvious drinking problem is the reason why he’s stuck without a real job. Harry smiles a weary smile, apologises to the customer for his poor presentation and assures him that he’s trying to improve on it. When the guy leaves, he leans against the cool glass window, pressing his aching head against it to try and soothe his returning headache.

“Are you okay, babe?” 

Harry turns around to find Zayn standing in front of the counter. He looks just as dishevelled as Harry does. Naturally it looks better on him with his tousled jet-black hair, and his lean figure in his paint-stained jeans and sweater. He watches Harry with a soft smile to his mouth, his tired eyes glinting even above the dark smudges that line them. He’s probably been painting since the garage isn’t open Saturday afternoons. 

“I feel like a wreck.” Harry rasps. “How about you?” He begins ringing up Zayn’s bags of crisps. They’re on special. Zayn buys seven bags. Well, he pays for seven bags. 

Zayn’s smile widens slowly. “Yeah, about the same.”

“You got home all right then?”

“Yes, Niall took both of us by the hand to cross the street to cab and everything. I can’t believe he’s still alive, much less that he was the one who got us home. Swear he even tucked me in.” Zayn laughs and Harry catches a glimpse of his tongue pressing against his teeth. 

He stares. Last night, he licked at the seam of those lips and tasted that tongue. He kissed Zayn last night. And it was a good kiss. Really good. He felt Zayn’s skin warm underneath his hands. And he’s almost sure that Zayn smiled that crinkly-eyed smile up at him as he tightened his fingers in Harry’s hair. 

His heart is pounding. 

“Yeah, I don’t even remember Liam getting me home last night. But I remember that we kissed. ” 

Zayn flushes and glances down at his feet. 

“Yeah, I remember that.” He meets Harry’s gaze again from beneath his messy fringe. “It was nice.” 

Harry is…Harry deflates. 

But he plasters a grin across his face while Zayn is watching him. He almost mindlessly slips some or other chocolate bar into his canvas bag and agrees that it’s to be a long while before they go out clubbing again. He waves at Zayn as he crosses the street. Zayn smirks and blows him a kiss, and Harry can feel his mouth twitch as his own grin nearly slips. 

It was nice? What’s that supposed to mean? 

*

“Well, why don’t you just bloody ask him what it means? For God’s sake, Harry, my head is going to implode if the pair of you continue to dance around the elephant-sized crushes you have on each other.” Louis huffs over the phone as Harry staggers around the grocery’s tiny toilet, trying to change out of his uniform after his Wednesday day shift. Harry’s diligently been over-analysing the exchange between him and Zayn on that sunny Saturday. 

“No, Louis. I can’t just ask him what it means. He’s just brushed me off – which he absolutely can do – twice, Louis! I think we can conclude that we don’t each have one elephant-sized crush on each other, it’s just me and my one whale-sized crush.” Harry says. “It’s like that one whale who swims around by herself and doesn’t have any whale family because her song is too low for all the other whales to hear.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end.

“Harry, has the thought maybe occurred to you that he’s just as confused as you are because there’s no method to your madness? You know, because you just go around making plans and doing these things and not really communicating to him what it means to you?” 

“What? No, but in all seriousness what the hell did he mean when he said the kiss was nice? What does that mean?” 

Louis groans. “We literally just had this exact conversation then.” 

The line goes dead before Harry can respond.

Well, that’s helpful then, isn’t it? Harry frowns at his phone. 

He’s very nearly late to pick up Zayn, he grabs the two bags of groceries for tonight’s dinner, and only yells out a quick goodbye to Lou before he’s out the door and running across the street. Zayn’s already outside, locking up the garage. He looks over his shoulder at Harry, the watery sunlight filtering down through the clouds catches on his eyes again like it did that afternoon in his kitchenette and turns them amber. And wow, he’s just pretty, isn’t he?

Harry’s very nearly winded by it. But Zayn pulls on Harry’s hair when he turns around and Harry sucks in a breath. 

“I know I invited myself over, but are you sure it’s okay for me to crash at your place?” Zayn asks as they make their way to Harry’s car. 

Harry was actually a bit surprised at Zayn organising the whole thing. It was perfectly logical. They finished up around the same time. Harry would drive them down to his place. Zayn would be able to check up on Harry’s car and make sure it was at least roadworthy. The other boys would come and go, and Zayn would stay over. And then Harry would drive them back up in the morning since they both had an early start on the Thursday. Logical. Just like Zayn. 

“Yeah, of course. Having the mechanic on hand is rather convenient anyway.” Harry has to wrench his door shut twice before it finally stays shut and he grins at Zayn. “Case in point.” He starts the car and the radio splutters to life as well.

“Is it running smoothly though?” Zayn asks, his brow furrowing.

“Yeah, yeah. I mean, you heard it wheeze a little when I accelerate, but that’s all. It’s not carrying on like before.”

“That’s because we fixed or replaced almost everything.” Zayn smiles but quickly grows serious again. “I think you should really consider buying another car, Harry. I’m happy to help you look for some decent second-hand ones.” 

“Thanks, Zayn.” 

Zayn murmurs a non-committal response and turns away to fix his gaze on the street flying past outside the window. 

Nick isn’t home yet and the apartment is quiet when Zayn follows Harry inside. He’s usually late home from the radio station so Harry’s already taken to adding two to three hours to Nick’s clocking off time. Harry will still make dinner for him though, since he somehow always manages to cook enough for an entire footy team, especially when it comes to pasta. 

Harry nods in acknowledgement when Zayn says he’s borrowing the shower as he tugs his sweater over his head. Harry can’t help but watch the way the muscles in his back pull together and he drags his gaze down as more and more tattoos are revealed. He’s only seen glimpses of them here and there. It sends a thrill scuttling down his spine. 

He pulls his gaze away.

Surely it’s creepy if he watches Zayn like that. Zayn hasn’t given him any reason to think that it’s welcome. He puts on music, and concentrates on putting away the groceries, pulling out an onion and a few tomatoes, and going about chopping them up. He knew he’d need the heavenly combination of bolognaise and parmesan tonight. He knew it. 

It’s as he’s adding the tomatoes, additional tomato paste, red wine, and oregano and bay leaves to the meat in the pot and humming along to some cheery folksy song that Zayn pulls himself up onto the counter next to him. Harry drops everything into the pot, including the spoon, because Zayn is sitting there in Harry’s jumper.

“How do I look?” he asks. 

It hangs off his lean frame, slightly too big for him. Zayn’s clavicle is exposed, the tattoo running along it as well as the beginnings of those trailing down his arm. Harry fumbles for a reply. He fishes the spoon out of the sauce to prevent Zayn from seeing his flushed cheeks, and quickly turns around to rinse it off, chewing on his lip.

“Sorry, babe, I just saw it hanging out of the laundry basket, should’ve asked.” Zayn nudges a foot against Harry’s thigh and when Harry glances at him over his shoulder, he’s playing with the damp hair curling at his neck, looking sheepish. 

“Nah. You look good.”

Zayn quirks an eyebrow. “Good.” 

Harry thinks it sounds like an invitation to elaborate on that. He doesn’t though. He just goes back to stirring the sauce, turning up the heat to get it to a boil.

“Do you need any help?” 

“No, I’m all right I reckon. It just needs to simmer for an hour or so, to reduce and thicken up. Don’t worry about the washing up, I’ll do that now quickly. Just sit there.” 

Zayn smiles. He pulls a well-thumbed old book out of his back pocket and opens up to a dog-eared page that makes Harry cringe. 

“You dog-ear your books?” he asks. 

Zayn glances up. “Yeah.”

Harry scrunches up his nose and Zayn chuckles. 

“See, I don’t get that? I kind of like it, don’t mind it when other people do it either. It just makes a book look like it has been read, which is kind of the whole purpose.” Zayn says. “I like seeing others’ dog-ears and wondering why they put it down then, whether it was just to go get a cuppa and then settle back in, or go to sleep or whatever. It makes it feel like kind of a shared experience in a weird way.” He rolls his eyes at his own rambling explanation. 

“I bet you say that to all the girls. Why don’t you romanticise the bloody lampshade while you’re at it?” Harry grins. 

He tries to make light of it because Zayn so often shares something that gives away a little bit of who he is rather than what he presents to people and then when he realises that he withdraws and straightens up the walls that keep everyone from coming closer inside than he wants. Harry greedily treasures each of those clumsy slips though. 

“Besides, it surely can’t get any more disrespected than it’s already been. My dad sent it to me in this state.” 

“How sweet.” Harry flicks soapsuds at him. 

“Babe, you know I’d treat you right though, yeah?”

Harry whips around to stare at Zayn.

Zayn pouts and narrows his eyes as he rakes his gaze down and back up Harry’s body. He waggles his eyebrows. His mouth twitches. Harry lets go of the breath he’d been holding as Zayn’s expression changes completely and he snorts with laughter. A joke. Harry feels his mouth twitch too.

“There goes the smoulder. Kind of an off-day for you, Zayn?” 

When Louis turns up on his doorstep with Niall in tow, he takes one look at Zayn lying on the couch in Harry’s jumper and raises an eyebrow at Harry. 

As peeved as Harry is that Louis had just hung up on him, his poor heart is still stuttering in his chest. He helplessly shakes his head at Louis. No, it’s not that. No, they didn’t shag on the couch. No, he didn’t have anything to do with it at all; Zayn is just casually trying to kill him. 

Louis rolls his eyes and pushes past him to greet Zayn with a messy kiss on the cheek. Zayn doesn’t even make a move to rub it off. Niall at least tries to give Harry a one-armed hug and tell him that whatever is cooking smells good before Louis is tugging him into the living room behind him. Louis pointedly looks at Harry as he arranges the seating so that Zayn is sandwiched between him and Niall on the couch with no room for Harry. 

His punishment, apparently. For not listening to Louis and not asking Zayn what ‘it was nice’ meant. Harry rolls his eyes but is content to sit on the floor, which is padded with the duvet he and Zayn had dragged out of his room earlier. He knows from thorough and frequent experience that Louis’s punishment could last anywhere between a few minutes, in which case he’ll pull on Harry’s shirt until Harry is sitting in his lap, to a days of petulance and the silent treatment. 

Luckily Liam joins them not long after. His shoulders are drooping underneath the exhaustion of his day at the factory and he only takes one long look at Zayn once he’s inside before begging Harry to feed him. 

“Poor, Payno.” Harry coos at him. “Come on, you can get all the helpings you want and extra cheese.” 

“Can we put Guardians of the Galaxy on?” Liam sticks his lip out.

“Of course.” Harry looks over his shoulder as they make their way to the kitchen. “Turn the telly on, you lot.” 

Harry hears the commotion as he goes about filling a bowl to the brim and then sprinkling so much grated parmesan over that he gets a dusting of the stuff over the floor. He doesn’t pay it any mind, knowing that where Louis and Niall go ruckus follows. 

“Harry! Where the fuck is the remote control?” 

“It’s just there!” Harry yells back. He hands Liam his bowl and Liam cradles it to his chest. 

“Harry…” 

“Just look for it!” 

Harry shakes his head. 

“Harry!” 

He looks up in surprise to find Niall in the doorway, grinning. “What?”

“That box you keep under the couch, is that where you stash your porn?”

“What?” Harry exclaims. “I don’t have a porn stash – I’m not about to cart a box full of dirty magazines with me wherever I go, that’d be inefficient.”

Niall spins around to return to the living room and Harry follows on his heels. The television is still not on and Louis is still sitting right where he had been. He’s holding something on his lap and when he tilts it up with a smirk so that Harry can see, Harry frowns. 

It’s the oil set he bought Zayn. He’d clean forgot about it. 

Zayn eyes it curiously and glances up at Harry.

“So if it’s not porn and Zayn says it isn’t his, then that must mean that Harry’s exploring his artistic abilities.” Louis announces.

Harry flushes.

“Hey, no – that’s pretty cool, Haz. Should’ve told us. Are you taking classes?” Niall asks. “I can hook you up with some of my art mates. They’re so into meeting and talking with random artistic types. And they’d love you with all of your travelling and cool hair.”

“I’m sure Zayn would be an excellent teacher too. Just tell him to talk about painting and away you go.” Liam says.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, sure. I’ll do that.” Harry mumbles. His hands itch to grab the box from Louis and chuck it out of the window. He wrings them. 

“The remote’s probably somewhere a bit closer to the telly, like behind it probably, since the battery’s going flat slowly. I’ll call you to come get food, I just want to plate it up.” 

Harry hurries back to the kitchen. He pulls another five bowls from the cupboard and puts them on the counter with a clatter, decides that other bowls would be better, switches them over and closes the cupboard again. The noise distracts him. He pinches his lip as he tries to remember where he put the cheese. 

He’s so tangled up in his own disjointed thoughts that switch between where is the bloody cheese and oh God, what’s Zayn thinking about that and fuck, the sauce is going to get burnt onto the stove and be a pain to clean, that he doesn’t notice Zayn watching him from the door. He nearly drops the spoon he’d been carrying on the floor.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” Zayn says. He comes closer slowly and Harry sees the oil set in his hands and knows he’s going to bring up what just happened and he really wishes he wouldn’t.

Zayn glances down at the floor, scratches at the back of his neck, before meeting Harry’s eyes again. 

“Harry, are you – are you learning to paint? Did we hurt your feelings?”

“No! No, really. I’m not and you didn’t.” Harry takes a breath at Zayn’s brow quirked like a question, like Harry’s this complex puzzle when it’s so simple and stupid that Harry wants to rip out his hair. “I actually, well, I bought it for you.”

“For me?” 

Zayn stares down at the box in his hands, which trembles. Almost like Harry’s did when he’d carried it out of that shop. Zayn shakes his head.

“But…it must’ve cost you two weeks’ pay at least. It’s too much, Harry. You’re already taking care of me. I can’t take this from you.”

“What?”

“Let me pay you back for it. I’m not sure that that store refunds, so let me pay you back.”

“But, Zayn – ”

“Just let me pay you back for it.”

“I don’t want you to pay me back, Zayn. I bought it for you to make you happy. It’s a gift.” Harry says. “You deserve to paint every day, not just rainy days.” 

Zayn bites his lip. He looks up at Harry, tries to search his face for a clue of where this piece fits. Harry wants to say right here, between us, because, fuck, it’s clear as day, isn’t it? 

“Harry! There you are!” It’s Nick. 

He wraps his arms around Harry’s waist and presses himself against his back, heaving ugly pretend sobs into his shoulder. 

“I hate to tattle, you know I do, but Louis is behaving like a giant unwashed anus towards me and I need you to tell him off.”

Harry is so surprised and disappointed and kind of wants to punch Nick that he can’t get himself to string words together and respond. He takes so long that Nick pauses in his sobs to peep over his shoulder.

“Oh, hello, Zayn. That’s a cute jumper. Am I interrupting anything?”

Zayn has closed up, his expression gone blank and cool. Impenetrable. 

“Thanks, Nick. No, you’re not interrupting.” 

The words are hardly cold out of his mouth before Nick is hauling Harry out of the kitchen, trying to carry him a few paces before settling on frog-marching him out instead. In the living room, the boys idly argue amongst each other and watch a Gossip Girl rerun out of the corner of their eye. Niall focuses on the former and stares at Liam scooping and twirling the last strands of pasta onto his fork. 

As soon as Harry is visible in the hall, Louis’s head shoots up. His half-smile and bright eyes harden into a scowl when he notices Nick.

“See that? Look at that, Harry! He told me to sit still and shut up, and when I thought that I’d come and say hello to you – as is only polite – he started hurling obscenities after me!”

“Because you cock everything up and you fucking know it!” Louis hisses.

Harry gets caught up in mediating until Niall declares that he’s starving and guides Louis to the kitchen. They continue to snipe at each other throughout the movie, but Louis has deflated and it’s only gentle derision between forkfuls of pasta, because it very much is a game to them both. It also means that Louis has forgotten about Harry’s punishment and Harry cheerily perches on the couch next to Liam, and even he doesn’t mind the running banter in the background. 

They all have that same Wednesday night exhaustion that comes from climbing over the hump weighing down their bones. They call it a night once Liam has insisted they all sit through the end credits again.

Harry and Zayn’s strange little sleepover goes about as well as expected expecting that it’s Harry and Zayn. 

Zayn fell asleep curled up on the couch before Louis was even out the door, the last retort to Nick’s insult called over his shoulder on the way out. 

So Harry tugs the afghan out from underneath him and throws it over him while Nick coos at him from his bedroom. 

They hardly speak a word to each other the next morning because Zayn has to be shaken and shoved at to even elicit a grunt in response from him and when he does wake up he’s murderous. He stomps to the kitchen, guzzles down two mugs of coffee with so much sugar that Harry can feel his teeth ache in sympathy as he watches. It’s only as he’s crunching away at Nick’s heavily frosted, sparkly cereal that the sleep clears out of his eyes somewhat and he mumbles ‘g’morning’ at Harry. 

Even the drive is quiet, but Harry doesn’t mind. He sings along to his playlist of 70’s songs, which the previous night’s movie made him want to unearth from the depths of his beaten up iPod. He knows Zayn communicates almost exclusively in grunts, half-sentences and frowns until at least ten thirty every morning.

It’s only when Harry arrives home that evening that he notices that the oil set is missing – as is his jumper. 

He feels secretly pleased, a strange sparky smugness that eddies up and down his spine. 

Maybe Zayn really did think the kiss was nice, like, nice nice. 

*

Harry’s punishment isn’t over by a long shot, it seems. 

However, as mortifying as being dragged into a game of seven minutes in heaven is, which Louis declared was his favourite and that they simply had to, the very idea of five mostly grown men sitting cross-legged and gaping as Niall comically pushed the bottle around so that it pointed at Zayn and then at Harry was pretty funny. 

Harry pouted at Louis amid the false ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ hummed from him and Liam, and Louis waggled his eyebrows as though to say ‘childish antics beget childish games, now away with you, go talk about your feelings and do the do’. 

Harry, lying sideways across Zayn’s bed, staring up at the graffiti that Zayn sprayed on his entire ceiling, their feet dangling off and knocking into each other every five beats, can’t help but feel rather content just here however like a fat housecat curled up in the sunlight would. 

It’s then that Zayn pulls him into sharp wakefulness when he broaches the subject of Harry’s plans for what he’s going to do. It’s one of those questions that he knows all of them flail at internally, he himself having evaded many clammy-handed and old-smelling aunties and uncles and grandparents’ enquiries over the years. It’s not as though they don’t know each other’s vague aspirations, but it’s just always been day-to-day with them instead of sprawling long-term dreams and ambitions. If Harry’s being honest, he’s not too sure of the long-term at all. 

“Well, I don’t particularly want to be a cashier forever, as nice as that old bird, Wilhelmina, was today when she praised my excellent customer service and my adorable dimples after it had taken her ten minutes to count out the change for twenty tins of beetroot, which was on special – reasonably nice deal actually.” 

“Harry.”

“All right. Well, my parents would like for me to go to uni and I think I’d like to go as well, maybe study law or business, or law and business, when I get there after my gap…time. I suppose I just want to go to some places and look at things and think about it for the moment, you know?”

“Hm. I just like how London was your choice of exotic travel destination.”

“Louis and I thought, well, we need to work and save for a while so why not come here and see the student life from a safe distance and see how it is?”

“Like a bloody rat race in the rain, is how it is.” Zayn snorts. 

“You don’t really feel that way.” Harry kicks at his foot.

“No, I don’t. I reckon this city got me on my feet again a few years ago.” 

It almost sounds as though Zayn is going to explain for a moment. 

Harry watches him sweep his eyes across his ravaged ceiling. He doesn’t explain and Harry doesn’t press. He wants to ask how? He wants to know. He wonders though how many people are privileged enough to know even the gist of that story.

Zayn glances sideways to catch him watching and shrugs. 

“If you’re technically travelling right now, how long are you hanging around then?” he asks instead.

“Oh, I don’t know quite yet. I need more money before I can get moving again. And the people here are rather lovely.” Harry grins. 

It’s his turn to stare up at the ceiling and he studies the fanged, pink bunny beaming down at them from near the window, the little claws on each front paw. He doesn’t know how long he’s staying here, with Nick and Louis and Niall and Liam and Zayn. He knows he has the money to get to France and sleep at some cheap hostel. He just doesn’t know when he wants to go. 

“What about you?” 

“Uni just – just wasn’t for me.” He says it like he’s releasing a breath. “I felt stifled and isolated and out of my depth and I dropped out after about a year and a half’s worth studying for an engineering degree. Only takes four years and I couldn’t do it. I don’t care for fancy shit, I grew up perfectly happy with quite little. I think I still disappointed my poor parents though. 

“My dad talked to one of his old friends, agreed to let me stay here and work for him. He calls every Sunday at exactly three and lets me know exactly what they’ve had for lunch and how much Mum misses me. Every month he sends me second-hand books he’s always picking up.” 

Harry watches as a soft half-smile that’s barely even there unfolds across his mouth. 

“They’re not disappointed.” Harry says and Zayn aims that same smile crosswise to him. 

“It’s just, I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m supposed to want or what I’m supposed to do.” 

Harry sees that smile wilt. He understands that. He does. It doesn’t feel right to say anything, almost as if going, ‘hey, same!’ would somehow take away from it. He hooks his foot around Zayn’s ankle and keeps his mouth shut.

Zayn shakes his head. He pushes himself upright with a huff and looks back over his shoulder at Harry.

“Know what I think would be fun?” he asks.

“What?”

“Pulling one over on those arseholes out there.” He shifts up so that he’s kneeling next to Harry before tugging at his arm, his smile turned sharp.

“Come on. I think we have about two minutes left. How about we have a really obnoxiously loud minute and a half pretend quickie?”

Harry takes in the glinting eyes watching him and chuckles. He wobbles as he gets to his feet on top of the bed and helps Zayn up as well. Zayn grins again.

“Oooh, yeah! Harry give it to me!”

Harry quirks an eyebrow.

“Liam’s face will be priceless.” Zayn says as he begins rocking the bed so that the headboard bumps against the wall behind it.

Harry lets out a ridiculous groan in reply as he tries not to giggle at the image. He bounces up and down. The bed creaks in complaint and thuds louder and louder against the wall.

“Your enormous cock hurts so good!” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry – and thanks, yours is nice too.” 

Zayn yelps, trying to disguise his laughter and keep going. Because Harry actually saying that during sex isn’t too far out of the realm of possibility. 

After all, he’s been forced – in another one of Louis’s favourite games, never have I ever – to tell the boys about that time he sincerely complimented a girl’s (he's very happy to label himself bisexual) home as they went at it and enquired as to whether her very practical desk was from IKEA. It was. She’d told him the name and he’d said, ‘oh, gesundheit’. 

Harry bounces and lands on the bed a little too hard.

It throws off his footing and Zayn’s as well. 

He lurches forward against Zayn, whose eyes are wide as saucers as though he’s so perplexed and shocked that he’s about to fall off his bed like that’s something he never does, unlike Harry. 

They both crash onto the floor.

“Ow, motherfuck.” Zayn snickers into Harry’s chest where they lie.

Harry tries to suck air into his lungs, half-winded.

The door gives a shrill whine as it swings open. Niall, Louis, and Liam poke their heads inside.

“Oh, well, that was embarrassingly fast.” Louis scoffs.

“I’m so confused.” Niall says.

Liam slips out again, content that Zayn’s okay and Harry’s mostly fine and that they’re not naked and injured. 

Harry glances at Louis. He’s surprised to find that Louis is frowning down at them. He’s actually properly irritated, not just teasing for fun or in a bit of a strop. He’d be more dramatic then. 

“Lou – ”

“Make yourselves decent so we can play some FIFA.” Niall says. 

Louis levels Harry with that frown that states that they are going to talk about this and soon too.

Zayn gets up first, but not without digging his elbows into Harry’s chest to push himself up and swiping a knee a little too close to Harry’s crotch. He grins down at Harry still taking deep breaths and clutching at his ribs too now. The grin softens and he holds out a hand to Harry.

It’s a quiet evening for them. Despite the fact that Louis’s scheme didn’t quite go his way even he’s feeling the end of the week exhaustion like a weight tied to every limb, and he doesn’t move a muscle from his spot contorting into a ball against the couch’s armrest. He only offers some dry comment here and there when Liam gets a goal or Niall pushes at him when he’s trying to get at the ball. 

Harry and Zayn take the carpet, leaning heavily against each other as they watch the mayhem unfold on screen. Zayn’s arm is resting on top of the couch, his fingers playing and twisting Harry’s hair about. Harry would be entirely happy to just stay here.

They’re well into their second match of their best two out of three wins game when Louis uncurls from his position and announces that he’s going to go make some tea and then it’ll be his turn to play, no exceptions. 

“Come give us a hand, Hazza.” He gives Harry a pointed look and Harry follows him with a sigh. 

Louis turns on him as soon as they set foot in Zayn’s kitchenette. 

“Harry, tell me, what are you playing at?” he asks. 

“What do you mean?”

“Listen, you know how he feels and you know how you feel.” Louis rakes a hand through his hair. “What I want to know is why you keep stringing him along like this?”

“What?” 

Louis opens his mouth and then shuts it. He clenches his jaw. Harry watches as he goes about putting the kettle on, all controlled frustration. 

“We have plans, Harry. We’ve had plans forever. You know that. We’re going to travel through Europe and go visit Lottie in Australia and do Bali and see South Africa afterwards. All of this, here, is just another stop on the way. It’s all temporary.” 

“I know that, Louis.”

Louis glances sideways at him. His blue eyes are sharp. 

“Do you though?”

Harry looks down, pinches at his lips. 

Does he know that it’s all temporary? Absolutely. 

He checks his account balance every day. He cringes at having to fork over money for anything but the most basic of necessities. 

He maps out the countries and cities and things to see in them every day that a customer yells at him for accidentally adding bits of their shopping to the previous person’s because they didn’t use a lane divider or for having to ask if they want cold items together despite tossing them onto the conveyor belt willy-nilly. 

He calls his mum every week and tells her about where they’re planning on going and what they’ll be seeing and how he’s almost saved enough and how excited he is for it. 

It is temporary. 

“Yeah. I do.”

“Well, think about that when you’re pining for Zayn. You’re both going to end up hurting. And I really don’t want that, I just want you to be happy. I want us to have fun before we have to grow up.” 

Harry knows Louis does the same as well as he botches an order in the coffee shop, dreaming about where they’ll have been and what they’ll have seen by this time next year.

Harry nods. 

“You can stay behind here if you want? Don’t feel obligated to trail on after me. But I think it would be good if you figure out how you really feel about Zayn and go from there.” 

Louis places a hand on Harry shoulder and he draws him in for a hug.

“I understand, Louis.” Harry says. 

The kettle boils and Louis gives Harry’s shoulder a last squeeze. 

They go about foraging for clean mugs and even manage to excavate a rusty old tea tray from one of the cupboards. The resulting assortment of mismatched mugs, a measuring beaker for the nearly expired milk, and the Tupperware container they had to empty some chunks of brown sugar into, probably isn’t the prettiest of tea party set-ups either of them have seen, but Harry nonetheless posts it on Instagram. 

Niall is laughing when they head back into the living room having apparently won. Liam crosses his arms and says that he ought to be ashamed because he used the kickoff glitch and he knows it. Niall, of course, calls it the luck of the Irish. He still brings Liam his tea. 

“Where’s Zayn gone?” Louis asks.

Liam glances up. “Oh, still smoking outside.” 

“Right. Well, my turn!” Louis balances his mug on the armrest as he seizes the controller. “Harry, come let me beat you!”

Harry declines from where he’s wandered over to see the progress Zayn’s made on his current painting. He tilts his head to the side. The swirling greens and browns remind him of the other one that’s still perched on his desk. Zayn’s still using the same paint too, determined not to let a drop go to waste. He blows on his tea, takes a sip and savours the heat of it. He wonders if Zayn gets cold up here in the winter. 

“Hey, lads, would you mind if we called it a night? I’m knackered.” 

Harry looks around at Zayn leaning against the banister on the other side of the room. 

Louis lets out a squawk and nearly flings his tea across the room, for which Liam reaches over him to take and gulp down. 

“You okay?” Harry asks. 

Zayn glances sideways at him. “Yeah, fine. Just tired.” 

They all file down the stairs and out through the garage not long after. Niall and Louis flit off hand in hand. Harry notices how tightly Zayn wraps his arms around Liam when they say goodbye for the night. Zayn doesn’t let go. 

Harry calls out a ‘see you!’ as he hurries towards his car, the cold air nipping at him. 

*

Harry’s week starts out painful and slow when he falls out of bed the next morning and he has to drag himself to his feet and hobble towards the bathroom to begin that tedious process of getting ready for work. 

However, it only gathers speed from there with every trek in and customer complaint and every happy customer and every loaf of white bread he has to ring up and every ping of his scanner and every ‘bye, Lou, see you tomorrow’ and every cough his car makes as they wheeze away and every crude joke from Nick grinning up at him on the couch when he stumbles into their flat every night. 

The only things keeping the tunnel vision at bay are Louis’s frequent texting and snapchats from the coffee shop. He’s too beat to even be irritated with Niall and Liam’s radio silence. He knows Niall is up to his elbows in assignments, and the pictures Louis sends Harry of him and Niall at work shows the stress and exhaustion clear on his face, and Liam takes his job too seriously to even text during his break. 

Zayn’s, however, is another matter. 

He doesn’t respond to a single text, unless it’s a question, in which case Harry’s given a one-word reply. Harry can see him across the road but Zayn doesn’t even glance his way when he tries to get his attention for a wave, for a smile, for a grimace at the grease streaked across his shirt and splashed on his hands. 

Nothing.

He does come by one afternoon for his two-minute noodles and his packet of Marlboro Reds. Harry, having just had someone declare him the worst employee for not putting the sixteen-pack of generic brand toilet paper in a bag for them, wants to grab fistfuls of Zayn’s plaid shirt and shove Zayn’s hand in his hair and whine until he scratches and pulls at it a little. 

And it’s like that first time Zayn wandered in there all over again. His smile doesn’t quite lift up his weary expression and he quickly looks away. But Harry tries not to overthink that. Zayn just gets like that. He gets like that. He just needs to pull back and withdraw into himself before he’s all over them again. 

It’s only when the boys all come over to his place that following Friday that he realises something might be wrong. 

Because Zayn has never missed a single one of their casual revelries. Liam has maybe had to nag and usher and pull him along to get him there but he’s always been there. Harry can’t focus on Teen Titans. He keeps listening for a ring or a text or a smoke signal from Zayn asking if he’d buzz him up. 

The four of them, since Nick’s got some or other party at the show – he invited Harry along when they were getting ready around each other this morning in a practice-perfected dance, but Harry already had his heart set on staying in with his boys – all squeeze onto Harry’s three-seat couch, somehow deciding that they were going to make it work. Harry’s sat half in Niall’s lap and pressed up against Louis’s bum since he’s curled up against the armrest again with his legs thrown over Harry’s lap, and Niall has an arm thrown around Liam’s shoulders on his other side, frowning in concentration at the telly. 

And it’s lovely. 

But there’s a crucial part to their whole patchwork family missing. 

They’re all feeling it too. Harry can tell. 

“Mate, your mum called me yesterday, said you haven’t picked up or called back all week.” Louis says later that night when they’re both dawdling at the door waiting for Niall to get his shoes on so they could head home.

Harry pulls a face because his mum only ever calls Louis as a last resort, when she’s completely fed up and irritated with Harry’s antics, or Harry’s antics that he’s not telling her about. 

“Oh, God. I saw all of those missed call notifications and just kept putting off calling her back because I’ve been flat-out and just not feeling good. She’s so cross, isn’t she?” 

Louis grins. “Oh, cross doesn’t even begin to describe it. Her baby boy is stumbling around the big city all by himself after all, of course she’s a bit worried.”

Niall chuckles a bit at that too where he’s sitting on the floor tying his shoelaces, messing them up and having to tie them again. 

Liam slips out not long after. He clasps Harry’s shoulder just as they say goodbye and gazes at him in that earnest way he has that Harry knows could probably let him get away with murder. 

“He’ll come around again. Zayn just enjoys being alone and thinking things over when he gets the chance. He’ll be back.” 

Because he just gets like that, yeah, Harry insists to himself. He will be back. 

Only he isn’t. 

There’s nothing. Harry doesn’t even see him from the window at his counter for the entire week. He texts him a quick ‘hey zayn, how are you?’ but there’s no reply despite Harry checking his phones every five minutes, until a customer yells at him and declares the new generation to be the worst people who ever crawled out of their mothers’ wombs. He puts it away, plasters a smile across his face, and apologises. 

Of course, that’s just when it screeches in alarm at him to remind him that his car service is at five tomorrow. 

The next day is slower than the past two weeks combined. Harry’s hands tremble as he bags a soccer mum’s groceries as she coaches the five-year old in a Spiderman costume who clutches mummy’s shirt with one hand while picking her nose with the other to count to twenty in French. 

“You all right there, love?” she asks him after he’s checked off all of the standard ‘how are you today?’s and the ‘got much planned for today?’s and the ‘lovely weather we’re having for this time of year’s as he weighs the bits and pieces of fruit she piles onto the counter. He must not have sounded convinced enough in the weather’s loveliness. 

“Oh, yes, thank you, I’m okay, ma’am.” Harry smiles. He grins down at the little girl as well, who’s solemnly counting to herself now.

“Just okay? What’s bothering you?” She must see Harry’s nervous swallow. “A girl? A boy rather?”

“Yeah, a boy. I’m, um, talking to him about the whole thing today.” Harry wipes his sweaty hands on his uniform green shirt.

“Oh, I see. Yes, that’s a bit nerve-wracking, innit?” She nods. “Well, good luck but I’m sure that as long as you’re your lovely self and flaunt those dimples, you’ll be just fine and won’t need it at all.” 

Harry beams, because isn’t that just the most generic advice a mum could give? He scans her card when she hands it over and hands her it back along with her receipt. 

“Thank you, ma’am. Good luck with you and your daughter’s plans to take over the world.” The little girl glances up at him, bobs her head up and down in apparent agreement, and mutters something along the lines of ‘with great power comes great responsibility’.

“Thanks, love, we’re starting with France.” 

When half past four finally ticks around and Lou ambles up to the counter to take over, Harry’s feeling a bit more optimistic about it. He wrestles himself into jeans and a sweater in the toilet again and calls goodbye to Lou on his way out.

The garage is shut and there’s not a sound to be heard when Harry uncoils his long-limbed frame from his car where he’s parked next to the kerb. He makes his way up to the doorstep, and rings the doorbell. After half a minute it’s still silent inside. He presses it again. The little tune sounds long and heavy in his ears. No answer. He raises his hand to press it a third time.

The door opens a sliver. 

Zayn opens it wider when he sees it’s Harry. And Harry’s heart skips a beat because Zayn’s wearing his jumper – the jumper he’d smuggled home with him that morning somehow. Maybe everything will be okay. He smiles.

“Um, hey, Zayn, sorry for disturbing you.” Harry says and ugh, he’s using his overly polite cashier tone. He clears his throat. “It’s just, uh, my service is today. But we can reschedule if now is inconvenient?” 

“Oh! Sorry, babe. I’d forgotten. I’ll go open up and you can bring it into the garage, okay?”

Harry agrees and within three minutes his car is in Zayn’s garage and Zayn is popping open the bonnet. Harry stands near one of the workbenches. He pulls at his sweater’s sleeves, pulling them over his knuckles and pushing them back up to his wrists as he watches Zayn lean forward to study the engine. There used to be banter and a dry running commentary before when Zayn was fixing up Harry’s car and Harry was stuck in the garage watching. It’s not like that now. The atmosphere is heavy and strained and awkward and Harry doesn’t care for it. 

“We missed you last Friday.”

Zayn glances up from refilling the engine oil. “What?”

“Um, we missed you last Friday, when the boys all came over to mine. We watched Teen Titans.” 

“Oh, yeah, I had stuff to do, couldn’t go. But I’m glad you had fun.”

They lapse into silence again and Harry wants to crawl out of his skin. He pinches his lip, searching for something to talk about that will pull Zayn out of his shell. There certainly is one thing.

He tugs at a stray curl and launches into the story of the soccer mom and the little girl in the Spiderman costume at the grocery today, buying bags upon bags of fruit, the little girl muttering in French, pausing when her mum would correct her pronunciation, repeating what she said with that pronunciation. 

He can see the corner of Zayn’s mouth lift ever so slightly where he’s still busy with the engine.

But then as soon as it appears, it slips from his face. 

He’s about to explain why she asked him what the matter was, why he was so nervous. He’s just about to – 

“Hey, Harry, why don’t you head up and brew us some tea, and I’ll be up in a bit too.” 

Harry nips his rambling in the bud and shuts up abruptly. Zayn is frowning as he studies the engine, his mouth set in a tight line. He doesn’t look up at Harry. 

Harry clears his throat, grunts in agreement, and makes his way upstairs. 

His throat is tight and he can feel his cheeks heat up as he fills up the kettle, puts it on to boil. 

He paces the length of the narrow little kitchen. He bites his swollen lower lip, rakes a hand through his hair. It’s okay. It’s fine. That just was not the right time. At all. He’s regrouping. He’ll try again. But when?

Harry bites back a curse when he spills a splash of scalding hot water on his hand as he pours it into two of the mismatched mugs he and Louis had used that one night. He paces again as the tea steeps, makes his way into Zayn’s living room and ambles about. He goes over to the paintings. 

The one Zayn had been working on over the past few weeks is missing, a blank canvas sitting in its place on the easel. His neat desk has devolved into chaos. The list of materials he kept is scrunched up into a ball and pushed to the side with the bent tin foil plate Zayn used for a palette. Harry spots the paint set he’d bought him laying thrown open beneath a wad of old newspaper, one of the tubes of paint lies discarded next to it, missing its lid. 

Harry puts the lid back on. 

He notices Zayn’s non-descript notebook then, where it’s been dropped under the desk. He bends down and grabs hold of it. Flicking through back to front, he realises it’s a journal that Zayn fills up with drawings. He can’t put it down though, is the thing. The last, latest, pages all have doodles of bits and pieces; eyes, large hands, wide and bulky but hunched shoulders from the back, tattoo designs, another rendition of the skyline, a camping scene. 

And then Harry definitely can’t put it down because suddenly page after page is filled with old photos and sketches of the people occupying them. 

He sees a photo of a younger, fuller-cheeked Zayn smiling up at him from it so wide that his eyes crinkle up. He’s sandwiched between an older lady who has to be his mother with those soft eyes, and a younger girl, not the sister that Harry saw, who could well have been Zayn’s twin but for her more angular features and the daring tilt to her chin that Harry knows Zayn tries to imitate – imitate only because it slips away so easily.

A girl appears in the next few sketches, and Harry turns the page to find a photo of her as well. And she’s beautiful and Zayn has drawn her with such care and reverence that it almost appears as though there’s a light emanating from her and it kind of hurts Harry to look at.

“What are you doing?”

Harry jumps and nearly drops the notebook. 

“Oh, I was just, um, looking, sorry.” Zayn frowns, notices the book in Harry’s hands. “Who is she?” Harry asks dumbly and Zayn looks even more pissed.

He strides over and takes the notebook from Harry’s limp grasp. He glances down at the page it’s still open to and his mouth gets a tight, bitter twist to it when he looks up and meets Harry’s gaze.

“You don’t go through someone else’s shit like this, Harry.” Zayn says.

“I-I’m sorry. I just saw it and I was curious when I saw the pictures of your family and her.” 

“So you kept going? You just kept prying?”

“I said I was sorry. Who is she? Why won’t you ever tell me anything about your family? Why won’t you tell me anything at all? Why are you so wrapped up in yourself?” Harry finds that he can’t get himself to stop as all his frustrations with Zayn suddenly come spilling out at once increasing in volume with every unanswered question, ugly and steaming in the air between them. 

“Fuck you, Harry. I don’t owe you. Just like you don’t owe me.” Zayn retorts, he doesn’t even consider it. 

“Another non-answer.” Harry shakes his head. It’s just that he wants more than scraps let slip here and there every now and then. He wants to be let in. And he knows this is the worst way to try and go about it. This will make Zayn push him away even further. But he’s disappointed and hurt, and he can’t just back down now; the damage has already been done, his selfishness laid bare. 

“Like I said, I don’t owe you shit.”

“I just – I don’t understand, Zayn. I don’t understand you.” 

“So leave then. Go. Why draw it out, right?” Zayn sneers. He steps back from Harry, tossing the notebook still clutched in a white-knuckled grip to the side, and jerks the jumper off over his head. He shoves it against Harry’s chest with such force that Harry stumbles back against the window, knocking his elbow into the wall as he brings a hand up to catch the jumper by a sleeve. The other sleeve sweeps against the floor.

“What?” 

“Go away.” Zayn says. He turns on his heel and storms to his room. Harry winces when he slams his door. 

He nearly trips over the jumper sleeve dangling by his feet. 

Zayn hadn’t even raised his voice. He’d just coolly cut down Harry and the silly conjectures he’d connected all the dots he’d thought Zayn had allowed him to see with, like it didn’t even take any effort to raise that axe and bring it down on him, like it was easy, like didn’t mean a thing. 

Harry goes downstairs. 

Only he can’t leave. 

Literally.

His car is still elevated four feet off the ground on Zayn’s single lifting jack-hoist. 

He goes back upstairs only to bump into Zayn just turning the corner.

Zayn staggers backwards at the collision’s force and just manages to catch himself on the banister. 

“Um, my car is still – ” Harry begins.

“Up on the jack-hoist.” Zayn doesn’t look sheepish or apologetic. He crosses his arms and looks everywhere but at Harry.

“You can’t get in that bloody death-trap.” Zayn says after a long moment. “The timing belt is fucked, the valves are bent and the pistons are damaged.”

“Oh.” Harry swallows. “I’ll just catch the bus then.”

“No, wait.”

Zayn looks up at him. He looks tired and desperate as he searches Harry’s expression for something.

“Look, um, let’s have the tea.” He says finally. 

“But I thought you wanted me to leave.”

He sees Zayn swallow. 

“I really don’t actually.”

Harry frowns. 

“The girl, he name is Perrie.” Zayn begins. Harry opens his mouth but Zayn shakes his head. “She was my best friend and we went to uni together from high school. I was in love with her. I loved her so much. I was going to ask her to marry me.

“But she had other dreams, big dreams that she couldn’t lay down and I couldn’t ask her to. And she’s doing great. She graduated with honours. She’s a lawyer and taking on the world. I was in a really bad place when she left. My dad thought it would be a good idea to go somewhere that she wasn’t and I was too broken up to put up a fight when he and my mum and my sister, Doniya, helped me out of the house and in here. I think he saw that I needed this.”

“But you still feel like you disappointed your them?”

Zayn glances up at him and nods. “Sometimes.” 

“And everything was fine until you stuffed my shopping bag full of Mars Bars when I was too distracted by those dumb dimples.”

Harry blinks. “But you keep pushing me away.”

“I heard you talking to Louis in the kitchen. I heard you say that this was all temporary. You’re going to leave and I’m going to stay behind here. And I respect your friendship with Louis, I thought that if I withdrew myself then I could get used to the idea of you leaving and it would be fine. I was scared that I’d get hurt again and this time nothing would bring me back.”

“I remind you of her.” Harry says.

“In a way. And when I saw you looking at those pictures I realised that I could push you away as much as I can but it’s still going to hurt when you leave.”

“Zayn.” Harry breathes. “You didn’t hear all of it. Louis told me to stop being a child and figure it out and just – just say it; like, I like you, I think I’m in love with you.”

Harry’s heart is pounding in his chest. Zayn stares at him, wide-eyed.

There’s another beat as Zayn’s eyes skim over his expression. 

“I like you. A lot. God. You talk slow and tell the most pointless rambling stories, and you always pander to the middle-aged men that come into the grocery.” Zayn looks down at his feet, shakes his head with a chuckle.

Harry laughs sudden and bright at that. “You always listen to my rambling stories. You’re the most awkward yet coolest guy I’ve ever met, and I honestly don’t know how you do that.”

“I fucking drew you and painted you. I grinded on you and snogged you senseless in that fucking club, I wanted to go home with you that night but you were so drunk. I stole your bloody jumper. I keep pulling on your hair because you get this dazed look on your face. But it never seemed like you got it.” 

“I tried to woo you with the stuff I snuck into your shopping and the food I pushed onto your plate. That night you came over to give me my car key and your sister was over, I had a romantic dinner planned and that was when I wanted to give you the paint set. I’m sure that I was the one who snogged you senseless, but regardless when I tried to bring it up you only said that it was nice. Playing that stupid seven minutes in heaven game with you was…nice.” Harry grins. “What drawings and what painting?”

“In my notebook, all the latest ones are your features. The forest and plaid painting is meant to be for you, you wore a red plaid shirt.” Zayn says. “How on earth was I meant to know that you being the mum-friend was actually you wooing me?”

“How on earth was I meant to figure out that that abstract painting was supposed to be me?”

“The red plaid shirt, remember?”

“No, it doesn’t make sense and I don’t want to think any more right now.” Harry says. 

He raises a hand to cup Zayn’s chin and Zayn’s hand finds its way to the back of Harry’s head, tangling in his hair, tugging him closer. They meet somewhere in the middle. 

*

The boys come over later after Harry sends out a group message from Zayn’s phone as Zayn rolls his eyes. 

They register that Zayn is wearing Harry’s jumper again and they are, in fact, holding hands and descend into chaos. Niall fist pumps, and Louis and Liam both grumble as they each hand over fifty quid. Louis claims insider-information and Liam calls him a hack. Niall mentions the luck of the Irish. When Harry finally calls his mum the next week - he's been busy - she spends a good fifteen minutes scolding him for making her worry and then asks him about his plans. He tells her his travelling has been put on hold and uni is still up in the air, she doesn't mind, tells him she's happy as long as he's happy. And maybe for now he is very happy to ring up and bag groceries and ogle his boyfriend's arse and marvel at how great he is. And when he finally meets Zayn's family, actually meet them, Zayn looks pretty happy too.


End file.
